The Reverberator | Page 2

from?"
"Well, this is a good place to meet," her father remarked, as if mildly,
and as a mere passing suggestion, to deprecate explanations.
"Any place is good where one meets old friends," said George Flack,
looking also at the newspapers. He examined the date of the American
sheet and then put it down. "Well, how do you like Paris?" he
subsequently went on to the young lady.
"We quite enjoy it; but of course we're familiar now."
"Well, I was in hopes I could show you something," Mr. Flack said.
"I guess they've seen most everything," Mr. Dosson observed.
"Well, we've seen more than you!" exclaimed his daughter.
"Well, I've seen a good deal--just sitting there."
A person with delicate ear might have suspected Mr. Dosson of a
tendency to "setting"; but he would pronounce the same word in a
different manner at different times.
"Well, in Paris you can see everything," said the young man. "I'm quite

enthusiastic about Paris."
"Haven't you been here before?" Miss Delia asked.
"Oh yes, but it's ever fresh. And how is Miss Francie?"
"She's all right. She has gone upstairs to get something. I guess we're
going out again."
"It's very attractive for the young," Mr. Dosson pleaded to the visitor.
"Well then, I'm one of the young. Do you mind if I go with you?" Mr.
Flack continued to the girl.
"It'll seem like old times, on the deck," she replied. "We're going to the
Bon Marche."
"Why don't you go to the Louvre? That's the place for YOU."
"We've just come from there: we've had quite a morning."
"Well, it's a good place," the visitor a trifle dryly opined.
"It's good for some things but it doesn't come up to my idea for others."
"Oh they've seen everything," said Mr. Dosson. Then he added: "I
guess I'll go and call Francie."
"Well, tell her to hurry," Miss Delia returned, swinging a glove in each
hand.
"She knows my pace," Mr. Flack remarked.
"I should think she would, the way you raced!" the girl returned with
memories of the Umbria. "I hope you don't expect to rush round Paris
that way."
"I always rush. I live in a rush. That's the way to get through."
"Well, I AM through, I guess," said Mr. Dosson philosophically.
"Well, I ain't!" his daughter declared with decision.
"Well, you must come round often," he continued to their friend as a
leave-taking.
"Oh, I'll come round! I'll have to rush, but I'll do it."
"I'll send down Francie." And Francie's father crept away.
"And please give her some more money!" her sister called after him.
"Does she keep the money?" George Flack enquired.
"KEEP it?" Mr. Dosson stopped as he pushed aside the portiere. "Oh
you innocent young man!"
"I guess it's the first time you were ever called innocent!" cried Delia,
left alone with the visitor.
"Well, I WAS--before I came to Paris."
"Well, I can't see that it has hurt US. We ain't a speck extravagant."

"Wouldn't you have a right to be?"
"I don't think any one has a right to be," Miss Dosson returned
incorruptibly.
The young man, who had seated himself, looked at her a moment.
"That's the way you used to talk."
"Well, I haven't changed."
"And Miss Francie--has she?"
"Well, you'll see," said Delia Dosson, beginning to draw on her gloves.
Her companion watched her, leaning forward with his elbows on the
arms of his chair and his hands interlocked. At last he said
interrogatively: "Bon Marche?"
"No, I got them in a little place I know."
"Well, they're Paris anyway."
"Of course they're Paris. But you can get gloves anywhere."
"You must show me the little place anyhow," Mr. Flack continued
sociably. And he observed further and with the same friendliness: "The
old gentleman seems all there."
"Oh he's the dearest of the dear."
"He's a real gentleman--of the old stamp," said George Flack.
"Well, what should you think our father would be?"
"I should think he'd be delighted!"
"Well, he is, when we carry out our plans."
"And what are they--your plans?" asked the young man.
"Oh I never tell them."
"How then does he know whether you carry them out?"
"Well, I guess he'd know it if we didn't," said the girl.
"I remember how secretive you were last year. You kept everything to
yourself."
"Well, I know what I want," the young lady pursued.
He watched her button one of her gloves deftly, using a hairpin released
from some mysterious office under her bonnet. There was a moment's
silence, after which they looked up at each other. "I've an idea you don't
want me," said George Flack.
"Oh yes, I do--as a friend."
"Of all the mean ways of trying to get rid of a man that's